


Collared - A Sequel

by rubyofkukundu



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bondage, Collars, Gen, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-24
Updated: 2010-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyofkukundu/pseuds/rubyofkukundu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty invites Sherlock round for a chat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collared - A Sequel

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted here: <http://sherlockbbc.livejournal.com/430990.html>
> 
> ***
> 
> This is a sequel to [Collared](http://kkscatnip.livejournal.com/2088415.html) by [kkscatnip](http://kkscatnip.livejournal.com/)

If there's anything Jim Moriarty likes to do, it's make a good entrance. Coincidentally, this is what he's doing right now.  
  
The corridor is dusty and sparse and Jim's footsteps echo as he walks. A disused school; cliché, yes, but even clichés have their place.  
  
The door to the classroom sports a small glass window; Jim peers through it then turns the handle and steps inside with a call of "Knock knock!"  
  
It pays to be polite, after all.  
  
Sadly, good manners aren't always rewarded. Sherlock Holmes, who is strapped to a chair in the middle of an otherwise empty room, hands bound behind his back (just the way Jim likes him), doesn't say a word. Very rude. But Sherlock does smile, which is at least _something_.  
  
Jim smiles back. "Hello."  
  
Sherlock's eyes follow Jim as he walks across the floor. "Hello."  
  
Jim breaks into a grin at that. He can't help himself. It's just so _nice_ to be able to see Sherlock again. "Miss me?" Jim asks.  
  
"No," says Sherlock, and Jim knows he's lying.  
  
"Know why you're here?"  
  
Sherlock schools his expression but his eyes crinkle with a suppressed smile. "Because you're bored and you wanted someone interesting to talk to."  
  
Jim sighs dramatically and scuffs a foot on the floor. "Predictable, isn't it?" he says guiltily, gesturing at the empty schoolroom. "I'm always so _predictable_." A second passes, then he reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a strip of leather, warm with body-heat.  
  
Sherlock's eyes narrow.  
  
"Oh," Jim gives a mock gasp and twirls the collar between his fingers, "now where did he get _that_ from? But that's the collar I tried on Dr John Watson!" He pauses to look at Sherlock and watch all the pretty little thoughts running around that head of his.  
  
Sherlock sniffs. "If you think I..."  
  
"Oh, Sherlock, please," says Jim. "There's no need for that." He tosses the collar up in the air and catches it again. "Now, define submission for me."  
  
Sherlock purses his lips.  
  
"Oh come on, come on," says Jim with a smile. "Play the _game_ , Sherlock. It's no fun if you don't play the game."  
  
Sherlock is silent for a second or two, and then says, "The action of submitting to an authority, a conquering or..."  
  
Jim tuts, loudly. "If I had wanted a dictionary definition, I would have consulted a dictionary." He gives Sherlock a sly glance. "You know where this is going, Sherlock. I know you do. Now, I want to know how _you_ define submission."  
  
Sherlock's lips turn up at the corners. _This_ is more like it. "I don't," Sherlock says, tone smug. "Submission is a word that has no meaning to me."  
  
Jim laughs in delight. Brilliant. _Brilliant._ "Oh you are something else, Sherlock. You really _are_." He takes a step forward and stops laughing as quickly as he started. "Of course, if you think this means that I'm not going to put the collar on you, you're wrong."  
  
Sherlock's half-smile turns into a half-snarl, but he doesn't struggle as Jim walks closer. No, Sherlock would never do that, because the curiosity is too bright in his eyes. And that is exactly what is so _wonderful_ about him.  
  
Jim approaches carefully, as if he's stalking a wild animal. He leans down slowly and wraps the collar around Sherlock's pale neck. Sherlock doesn't make a move, but his breathing has quickened and his heart rate is elevated. Jim runs his fingers around the leather, then buckles and locks it in place. "Click." Jim straightens up and smiles down at his new pet. "Want to tell me how it feels?"  
  
Sherlock snorts. "No."  
  
"Too bad," says Jim. "You're _mine_ now, Sherlock. I _own_ you." He grins at the feel of the words on his tongue and the affronted look on Sherlock's face.  
  
"I will not..." starts Sherlock, but Jim just laughs.  
  
"Come on, boy!" Jim bends down and pats his thighs. "Come on! Good boy! Walkies!"  
  
Sherlock sneers and Jim just laughs harder, laughs until his sides hurt. He calms himself eventually, laughter trailing off into giggles, and giggles fading out into a grin. Sherlock says nothing as Jim smooths out his trousers and wipes his eyes.  
  
"You know," says Jim, stepping close to run his fingers over the collar once more; he crouches down, presses his nose beneath Sherlock's chin and happily inhales the smell of the leather, "I suppose that if we're going to do this properly, then this is the part where I jack you off in your underwear." He presses a hand between Sherlock's legs and feels Sherlock take in a breath. "Where I get you to submit to me."  
  
Jim cups his fingers and rubs, and Sherlock's pulse flutters beside his lips. "Unlucky for you," Jim leaves a kiss on the collar, "I don't put out on a first date." He pulls back and gives Sherlock a wink.  
  
Sherlock glares.  
  
As fun as it is to be the centre of all this frustration, Jim knows that all good things must come to an end. With a smile, he stands, straightens his clothes, and walks over to the door. Sherlock remains silent, but Jim can practically hear his mind working. _Glorious_. Jim hopes he'll be able to hear that mind again sometime soon.  
  
He gives Sherlock a wave, "See you around!" and steps out into the corridor. Sherlock, sullen boy that he is, doesn't deign to say goodbye.  
  
Once he's outside the building, in the crisp afternoon air, Jim takes a deep breath and grins. Sherlock is _his_ now. His his _his_. And he's sure as anything that, no matter what happens, Sherlock won't forget it.  
  
It's almost as an afterthought that Jim takes out his phone and sends a text: _Let him stew for an hour, then set him free._ Ruthless he may be, but Jim is nothing if not _kind_.


End file.
